It’s no secret the prevailing West Virginia stereotypes do very little to paint an attractive picture of our state. From the jokes about inbreeding – for which Dick Cheney, our own Vice President, recently apologized – to our appalling statistics related to obesity, smoking, and overall health, West Virginia isn’t shining so bright from the outside looking in.
What is it we’re lacking that places like Asheville, NC have tapped into as a source of social fertility and economic growth? Our state is just as beautiful as theirs, just as fraught with natural wonders and the potential for limitless adventure. Why are Colorado’s mountains crawling with a population of fitness fanatics, topping the nation’s statistical health charts, while in WV an unhealthy lot of us stay rooted like stumps in the shadows of the mountains that surround us, fast food gurgling in our bellies? In 2007, West Virginia surpassed Alabama as the country’s second fattest state, with 67% of our population either overweight or obese. This is a health crisis, physical and otherwise, and until our population as a whole begins to pull its collective body into a state of equilibrium, its mind and spirit will suffer as well, and its potential will lie dormant as a seed in frozen winter soil.
As a yoga devotee I understand the unavoidable, symbiotic connection between the different components of ourselves, both individually and collectively. On the individual level, we will often suffer physically from the result of emotional wounds, and vice versa. Spiritually, a shoddy foundation frequently diminishes the emotional timbre of life, continuing the circle of one thing making, forging, and creating the other. Yoga knows that the mind, body, and spirit must come together in one unified effort to continually grow into a brighter tomorrow, to always follow the light. Yoga does not stagnate. It does not tarry in complacency. It does not sit its butt on the couch and watch twenty hours of drivel a week while the world whispers past in its peripheral vision. Instead, it persists in always trying to be better.
Just as each person requires the proper balance of a healthy mind, body, and spirit, so too do populations. If the majority of any given group (such as the 67% of West Virginians who are overweight or obese) is suffering physically, odds are pretty good the society is suffering in general. Bad juju is like mold on bread, it just grows and grows into the space around it. The good news is that positive energy does too.
And in the world I live, here in West Virginia, I’m surrounded by forward-thinking, spiritually-focused, dedicated life-mongers. People who believe in West Virginia and its potential to begin a new life at the top of all the right national lists, happily owning its inherent goodness. In yoga, we strive to uncover the enlightenment glowing in our core – not to become enlightened, but to reveal that within which is already enlightened. As West Virginians we understand the compelling value of our land and people, and in my little yogic corner of the state we are striving to bring West Virginia to the light, because we are doing the same for ourselves.
The answer, then, to creating a new West Virginia stereotype, ultimately resides in the lap of each individual resident of the state. If we want to quit being the butt of every national joke, then we must take responsibility and seek to find our highest selves. We can’t do this very well sitting slack-jawed in front of the television or gawking at People magazine. Or while eating one toxic meal after another, or squeezing our lives into stress-filled shoe boxes. The happiness we so long for is here. We just have to commit ourselves to finding it, right there within the core of ourselves and the heart of our state, where it has always been, patiently waiting.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Saturday, May 31, 2008
SHEDDING FEAR
The soft breath of evening opens over me as I take the first steps down the path in the forest I’ve come to think of as my own. I rarely see other people here, even on the most gorgeous, welcoming days of the year, days when the leaves wave rainbows and drop themselves like delicate angels onto the ground below, days when the air is bright with the spring-tipsy flutter of forest critters, days when the world is mellow, and the slow hollow suck of the mud-soft path pulls my shoes away from my feet as I walk. The curt welcome of winter is especially solitary, when the path is often frosty or slippery or slathered in ice-cold water, glittering with the hard, undeniable beauty of a quiet frozen landscape. Countless times now, maybe thousands of times, I’ve stepped from the lair of my car into this real world so drenched in beauty and life it amazes me the whole city hasn’t flocked here to taste just a morsel of it.
But they haven’t. Usually I’m here alone, the way I like it.
My relationship to the forest has evolved, the way most everything in my life has over the past few years, most keenly the relationships I share -- with people, with trees and hills, mud-slicked paths, with myself. Years ago, before yoga, before I had reclaimed my body, before I chose to allow so many of my fear-based perspectives to take their own hike somewhere else, I discovered the forest as a convenient place to get exercise. As a novice runner mid-way through an 80-pound battle, I navigated a three-mile course on the paved road that rambled through the woods. In those days I did usually see people. Cars would drive past, moms with baby strollers, other runners leaving me in their dust, cyclists… The deep tangle of trees and hills that spread out from the road and around me for seeming infinity represented a world I never stepped foot in, not by myself at least.
Somewhere in the midst of losing almost half my body weight, I discovered yoga and unwittingly began to transform my interior landscape. For quite some time, a number of years, I continued to exercise vigorously while struggling to find enough time to enjoy the yoga I intuitively knew I needed. I ran in the forest, attended umpteen thousand aerobics classes, I did yoga. I adhered to a specific schedule each day, enjoying my yoga practice only on allotted days, partially ruled by the fear that if I sacrificed any aerobic activity I would re-gain an ounce of weight, which would immediately snowball into 80 pounds, and I’d be back where I started. So I weighed myself morning, noon, and night, wrote down every tidbit of food I put into my mouth, and struggled with how to fit more yoga into my schedule. I didn’t know how to put my decisions into this context then, but now I know I was driven by fear, that sneaky devil. The fear of becoming who I didn’t want to be.
Eventually I took my run to the woods. I don’t remember the transition, I just know it happened, and I know it was the yoga in me that made me do it. One day I was on the road, and then one day I wasn’t, I had disappeared into the leaves to begin a different journey, and I haven’t looked back since.
Now I take it slow. My running feet have stopped running. I’m back to walking in the woods. Sometimes I’ll stop dead still in the middle of the trail and look around in sheer wonder. I see things back here I never once, in all the years I trod the pavement, saw. Five feet from a deer bigger than me, the two of us locked in a thick moment of respectful cross-species communication, she finally turns and saddles off to rejoin the wood’s salient hum. I’m so grateful to be a part of this scenario I could cry, and sometimes I do. Sometimes it’s birds dancing on the breeze, sometimes it’s a beaver slamming his tail at me, sometimes the noise is a mystery I can only guess at, a twittering reminder that I am of this world and not above it, that we are all of us – the birds and salamanders, moss-covered rocks and chirping squirrels – participating in a dance, whether we realize it or not.
People have expressed concern to me about the safety of hitting the woods alone. Part of me used to worry about this as well. My father, bless his heart, gave me this thing called an “executive ice-scraper,” this tool that could very legitimately be used to scrape ice, as well as gouge eyeballs or otherwise inflict harm on a would-be attacker. It fit snug and warm in my palm, and I gripped it while I darted through the woods, constantly aware of its presence, of the imminent threat of attack. It made perfect sense to me at the time. After all, I also used to tell my husband that I felt like we were all walking around with loaded guns aimed at our heads, I worried so incessantly about the well-being and safety of my family. I used to constantly feel as though all of us were just a hair’s breadth away from disaster, that really the list of potential tragedies was infinite so I therefore had to worry extra hard and extra long to make sure I covered every single one of them. It was hell, and I created it. The executive ice-scraper was my friend, its presence helped me to not forget the never-ending parade of disasters that were tottering on the brink of reality, poised to ruin my life. I was ready, dammit, I could hardly wait to show off my impressive self-defense skills.
So again with the fear. Eventually, as I deepened my practice, as I learned to focus more on my breaths than my thoughts, more on what is than what might ruin it, the executive ice-scraper got left behind, and slowly, so slowly I didn’t even notice it happening, the torrid parade of scary images that seemed to me just a natural constituent of being a mother, a wife, a woman alone in the big breathing world, the torrid parade faded into oblivion where it belongs and left an open space I could begin to fill with gratitude and appreciation. I can’t remember the last time I entertained a twisted fantasy about how exactly I would kick a man coming at me, how fast I would run, would a car be on the road for me to wave over? If I was going to go down, would it last long, would I suffer much? How exactly would my children react when they learned they’d never see their mother again? Would my husband remarry? All this as I took one step after another through god’s growing green earth, shining all around me in full-on lustrous glory, while I shirked inside my useless worry like a turtle in a shell. It’s as though I was insane, just like a lot of us, worry worry worry, wasting all those precious moments on figments of our imaginations, breathing life into our worst nightmares.
Now at least I know I have an option. I can walk in the woods, my arms swinging a careless rhythm, allowing myself to absorb the sheer limitless goodness offered by one foot after another on a long forest path, the woodsong happy and the leafwind smooth, my heart open and my mind free. Or I can walk with the executive ice-scraper tucked like a burdensome shadow in the hollow of my hand. What the heck, I’ll risk it. The scraper can stay in the glovebox of the car where it belongs, waiting for winter and hard cold ice.
I’ll take the woodsong and leafwind.
Namaste.
But they haven’t. Usually I’m here alone, the way I like it.
My relationship to the forest has evolved, the way most everything in my life has over the past few years, most keenly the relationships I share -- with people, with trees and hills, mud-slicked paths, with myself. Years ago, before yoga, before I had reclaimed my body, before I chose to allow so many of my fear-based perspectives to take their own hike somewhere else, I discovered the forest as a convenient place to get exercise. As a novice runner mid-way through an 80-pound battle, I navigated a three-mile course on the paved road that rambled through the woods. In those days I did usually see people. Cars would drive past, moms with baby strollers, other runners leaving me in their dust, cyclists… The deep tangle of trees and hills that spread out from the road and around me for seeming infinity represented a world I never stepped foot in, not by myself at least.
Somewhere in the midst of losing almost half my body weight, I discovered yoga and unwittingly began to transform my interior landscape. For quite some time, a number of years, I continued to exercise vigorously while struggling to find enough time to enjoy the yoga I intuitively knew I needed. I ran in the forest, attended umpteen thousand aerobics classes, I did yoga. I adhered to a specific schedule each day, enjoying my yoga practice only on allotted days, partially ruled by the fear that if I sacrificed any aerobic activity I would re-gain an ounce of weight, which would immediately snowball into 80 pounds, and I’d be back where I started. So I weighed myself morning, noon, and night, wrote down every tidbit of food I put into my mouth, and struggled with how to fit more yoga into my schedule. I didn’t know how to put my decisions into this context then, but now I know I was driven by fear, that sneaky devil. The fear of becoming who I didn’t want to be.
Eventually I took my run to the woods. I don’t remember the transition, I just know it happened, and I know it was the yoga in me that made me do it. One day I was on the road, and then one day I wasn’t, I had disappeared into the leaves to begin a different journey, and I haven’t looked back since.
Now I take it slow. My running feet have stopped running. I’m back to walking in the woods. Sometimes I’ll stop dead still in the middle of the trail and look around in sheer wonder. I see things back here I never once, in all the years I trod the pavement, saw. Five feet from a deer bigger than me, the two of us locked in a thick moment of respectful cross-species communication, she finally turns and saddles off to rejoin the wood’s salient hum. I’m so grateful to be a part of this scenario I could cry, and sometimes I do. Sometimes it’s birds dancing on the breeze, sometimes it’s a beaver slamming his tail at me, sometimes the noise is a mystery I can only guess at, a twittering reminder that I am of this world and not above it, that we are all of us – the birds and salamanders, moss-covered rocks and chirping squirrels – participating in a dance, whether we realize it or not.
People have expressed concern to me about the safety of hitting the woods alone. Part of me used to worry about this as well. My father, bless his heart, gave me this thing called an “executive ice-scraper,” this tool that could very legitimately be used to scrape ice, as well as gouge eyeballs or otherwise inflict harm on a would-be attacker. It fit snug and warm in my palm, and I gripped it while I darted through the woods, constantly aware of its presence, of the imminent threat of attack. It made perfect sense to me at the time. After all, I also used to tell my husband that I felt like we were all walking around with loaded guns aimed at our heads, I worried so incessantly about the well-being and safety of my family. I used to constantly feel as though all of us were just a hair’s breadth away from disaster, that really the list of potential tragedies was infinite so I therefore had to worry extra hard and extra long to make sure I covered every single one of them. It was hell, and I created it. The executive ice-scraper was my friend, its presence helped me to not forget the never-ending parade of disasters that were tottering on the brink of reality, poised to ruin my life. I was ready, dammit, I could hardly wait to show off my impressive self-defense skills.
So again with the fear. Eventually, as I deepened my practice, as I learned to focus more on my breaths than my thoughts, more on what is than what might ruin it, the executive ice-scraper got left behind, and slowly, so slowly I didn’t even notice it happening, the torrid parade of scary images that seemed to me just a natural constituent of being a mother, a wife, a woman alone in the big breathing world, the torrid parade faded into oblivion where it belongs and left an open space I could begin to fill with gratitude and appreciation. I can’t remember the last time I entertained a twisted fantasy about how exactly I would kick a man coming at me, how fast I would run, would a car be on the road for me to wave over? If I was going to go down, would it last long, would I suffer much? How exactly would my children react when they learned they’d never see their mother again? Would my husband remarry? All this as I took one step after another through god’s growing green earth, shining all around me in full-on lustrous glory, while I shirked inside my useless worry like a turtle in a shell. It’s as though I was insane, just like a lot of us, worry worry worry, wasting all those precious moments on figments of our imaginations, breathing life into our worst nightmares.
Now at least I know I have an option. I can walk in the woods, my arms swinging a careless rhythm, allowing myself to absorb the sheer limitless goodness offered by one foot after another on a long forest path, the woodsong happy and the leafwind smooth, my heart open and my mind free. Or I can walk with the executive ice-scraper tucked like a burdensome shadow in the hollow of my hand. What the heck, I’ll risk it. The scraper can stay in the glovebox of the car where it belongs, waiting for winter and hard cold ice.
I’ll take the woodsong and leafwind.
Namaste.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Ahimsa and Lifestyle
We started the discussion of ahimsa last week, but one little page isn’t enough to even introduce the topic, much less explore it. The importance of ahimsa (non-violence in thought, word, and deed) to yogis as well as other peace-loving folks is bound to transfer to daily life, but the issue of diet is one which can philosophically segregate even those devoted to a non-violent existence.
Plenty of people who eat meat would never dream of committing a violent act against a person or an animal, but the hard fact remains that meat cannot land on a plate without an act of violence having been committed, an act in which the carnivore is ultimately complicit when enjoying meat. At the same time, many spiritually dedicated and conscientious people do choose to eat meat, and I’m definitely not here to admonish anyone’s particular lifestyle choices. I’m the only vegetarian member of my family, and it’s only been 2 ½ years since I gave up meat myself. So I’m not on a high horse here. Nonetheless, this is a salient topic in the world of yoga, and one I believe worthy of exploration.
The evolution of my own dietary habits definitely mirrored the integration of yogic principles into my daily life. I was always one of those “don’t tell me, I don’t want to know” meat eaters with a stronger affinity for vegetarian rather than flesh dishes. Once I exposed myself, however, to the realities involved with not only the production of, but also the peripheral effects, of the meat industry, I gave it up. Happily. The decision has actually made me feel lighter, and has made my life easier. Rather than burying (and therefore on some level struggling with) the harsh truths represented by my diet, I’m now free from that burden.
Except for the fish issue, which I discussed last week, and which I am currently re-evaluating. One of the “justifications” I use for occasionally eating fish is that at least the animal has been afforded an opportunity to live life, to swim freely, and to, well, be a fish. As opposed to industrially-raised cattle and chickens, who live horrific lives and die horrific deaths, suffering through their entire existence without the opportunity to experience even one moment of freedom, of happiness, of being as they’re “meant” to be. Everything dies, everything transitions from earthly form, so the death itself is not as bothersome to me as the denial of life.
Many people believe that since we have “dominion” over animals, we have the right to do with them as we please. My personal response to this is that dominion does not equate a lack of responsibility. Parents have dominion over their children, but that does not mean they have the right to treat them any way they want. It actually means they are obligated to steadfastly nurture them.
The debate over the morality of meat eating could go back and forth forever, but I think the debate about the best production practices is more easily won. Massive, industrial meat producing operations are devastating to the animals, the land they inhabit, and the people who eat them, simple as that. Polluted farm runoff, overuse of antibiotics (which ultimately travel through the food chain and into human bodies), the direct support of monoculture megafarms, and the general dismal pall permeating the industry from feedlot to table can be avoided by kind-hearted meat eaters who alter their buying habits.
We do this first by eating less meat. It’s no secret, even within the mainstream American health community, that our culture tends to consume an unhealthy amount of meat, especially red meat, and for pete’s sake especially too much heart-stopping pretend food like hot dogs and chicken nuggets. Our beautiful state is a supreme example of a population that could benefit immensely from going veg a couple of days a week. Implementing the self-study required (another yogic prescription for the good life) to bring oneself to the realization that something might need to be changed in order to take a step further in living our healthiest, happiest lives, is in itself worthwhile. Nothing in the world wrong with a little self-discipline; just because we might want to eat hamburgers for dinner every night and bacon with breakfast every morning (or poptarts or macaroni and cheese), doesn’t mean we should. So less is more, in lots of realms. Easy enough.
Beyond this we can lessen our impact by choosing local, organically-raised meat. And produce too, if we can find it. Smaller operations tend to treat their animals more kindly, and the animals are more likely to die humanely. If you are interested in finding locally-raised meat, I’m aware of a couple options in the area. Feel free to contact me for information if you’re curious.
The environmental impact of the mega-meat world is too vast a topic for me to try to broach, but I can recommend some books that will enlighten you better than I:
The Omnivore’s Dilemma by Michael Pollan. This book is incredibly well-researched and even-handed. It’s written by a meat-eater, and he won’t try to convince you to give it up. Entertaining and highly informative. I couldn’t put it down.
Fast Food Nation by Eric Schlosser. Learn more than you ever wanted to know about America’s favorite meal, the burger and fries. Yum.
The Hundred-Year Lie by Randall Fitzgerald. Not really a book about meat, but a book about all the stuff we put into our bodies that we might want to think about a little more thoroughly.
Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver. Explore the life of a family that goes local for a whole year. No trucked-in food allowed. http://animalvegetablemiracle.comt/
Most of these books, as well as some yoga cookbooks, are in the library at The Folded Leaf. Help yourself!
I think more important than our specific choices regarding diet or other habits in our lives, is our devotion to exploring the motivation and purpose behind the choices we do make. It is only through our own self-study and desire to grow that we might get from Here to There in our effort to progress -- even when that journey is a spiraling from wonderful to more wonderful, for yoga understands that our potential is infinite. What a great practice.
Namaste.
Plenty of people who eat meat would never dream of committing a violent act against a person or an animal, but the hard fact remains that meat cannot land on a plate without an act of violence having been committed, an act in which the carnivore is ultimately complicit when enjoying meat. At the same time, many spiritually dedicated and conscientious people do choose to eat meat, and I’m definitely not here to admonish anyone’s particular lifestyle choices. I’m the only vegetarian member of my family, and it’s only been 2 ½ years since I gave up meat myself. So I’m not on a high horse here. Nonetheless, this is a salient topic in the world of yoga, and one I believe worthy of exploration.
The evolution of my own dietary habits definitely mirrored the integration of yogic principles into my daily life. I was always one of those “don’t tell me, I don’t want to know” meat eaters with a stronger affinity for vegetarian rather than flesh dishes. Once I exposed myself, however, to the realities involved with not only the production of, but also the peripheral effects, of the meat industry, I gave it up. Happily. The decision has actually made me feel lighter, and has made my life easier. Rather than burying (and therefore on some level struggling with) the harsh truths represented by my diet, I’m now free from that burden.
Except for the fish issue, which I discussed last week, and which I am currently re-evaluating. One of the “justifications” I use for occasionally eating fish is that at least the animal has been afforded an opportunity to live life, to swim freely, and to, well, be a fish. As opposed to industrially-raised cattle and chickens, who live horrific lives and die horrific deaths, suffering through their entire existence without the opportunity to experience even one moment of freedom, of happiness, of being as they’re “meant” to be. Everything dies, everything transitions from earthly form, so the death itself is not as bothersome to me as the denial of life.
Many people believe that since we have “dominion” over animals, we have the right to do with them as we please. My personal response to this is that dominion does not equate a lack of responsibility. Parents have dominion over their children, but that does not mean they have the right to treat them any way they want. It actually means they are obligated to steadfastly nurture them.
The debate over the morality of meat eating could go back and forth forever, but I think the debate about the best production practices is more easily won. Massive, industrial meat producing operations are devastating to the animals, the land they inhabit, and the people who eat them, simple as that. Polluted farm runoff, overuse of antibiotics (which ultimately travel through the food chain and into human bodies), the direct support of monoculture megafarms, and the general dismal pall permeating the industry from feedlot to table can be avoided by kind-hearted meat eaters who alter their buying habits.
We do this first by eating less meat. It’s no secret, even within the mainstream American health community, that our culture tends to consume an unhealthy amount of meat, especially red meat, and for pete’s sake especially too much heart-stopping pretend food like hot dogs and chicken nuggets. Our beautiful state is a supreme example of a population that could benefit immensely from going veg a couple of days a week. Implementing the self-study required (another yogic prescription for the good life) to bring oneself to the realization that something might need to be changed in order to take a step further in living our healthiest, happiest lives, is in itself worthwhile. Nothing in the world wrong with a little self-discipline; just because we might want to eat hamburgers for dinner every night and bacon with breakfast every morning (or poptarts or macaroni and cheese), doesn’t mean we should. So less is more, in lots of realms. Easy enough.
Beyond this we can lessen our impact by choosing local, organically-raised meat. And produce too, if we can find it. Smaller operations tend to treat their animals more kindly, and the animals are more likely to die humanely. If you are interested in finding locally-raised meat, I’m aware of a couple options in the area. Feel free to contact me for information if you’re curious.
The environmental impact of the mega-meat world is too vast a topic for me to try to broach, but I can recommend some books that will enlighten you better than I:
The Omnivore’s Dilemma by Michael Pollan. This book is incredibly well-researched and even-handed. It’s written by a meat-eater, and he won’t try to convince you to give it up. Entertaining and highly informative. I couldn’t put it down.
Fast Food Nation by Eric Schlosser. Learn more than you ever wanted to know about America’s favorite meal, the burger and fries. Yum.
The Hundred-Year Lie by Randall Fitzgerald. Not really a book about meat, but a book about all the stuff we put into our bodies that we might want to think about a little more thoroughly.
Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver. Explore the life of a family that goes local for a whole year. No trucked-in food allowed. http://animalvegetablemiracle.comt/
Most of these books, as well as some yoga cookbooks, are in the library at The Folded Leaf. Help yourself!
I think more important than our specific choices regarding diet or other habits in our lives, is our devotion to exploring the motivation and purpose behind the choices we do make. It is only through our own self-study and desire to grow that we might get from Here to There in our effort to progress -- even when that journey is a spiraling from wonderful to more wonderful, for yoga understands that our potential is infinite. What a great practice.
Namaste.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
AHIMSA
A friend of mine e-mailed me earlier this week and suggested I write about ahimsa, the yogic concept outlined in the Yoga Sutras that recommends a non-violent and non-harmful approach to all of life in both thought and deed. A good subject for sure, so here goes. The topic of ahimsa is multi-layered enough to warrant many inquiries: how does ahimsa relate to our asana practice, our communication with others, our preferred activities, our diets, and even our thoughts? What exactly qualifies as “violent” or “harmful?” If a mere thought can harm, then does the thought itself have heft and verve, in a quantum sense, as the Yoga Sutras indicate? These questions insinuate the cerebral rabbit hole we jump into when our yoga merges with our life, which, if we practice long enough, it almost assuredly will.
Blunt force is easy to recognize as harmful, but the more subtle forms of violence might be more appropriately described as resistance to the inherent good glimmering in the center of any given moment. We judge one another too easily, or fail to say “thank you,” or go to bed mad. Sometimes we let too many moments escape unappreciated, robbing ourselves as well as the people surrounding us of the best possible experience. Is this violent? Harmful? It certainly limits our freedom, inhibiting our movement forward in the journey to enlightenment.
Consideration of these questions invites mindfulness and self-awareness, allowing us as yogis the opportunity to continue to grow and to be happier. When we extend the effort to be gentle and aware to even the more subtle aspects of our daily lives, we cannot help but constantly investigate our own motives for and reactions to the events we create, as well as those surrounding us, which some say we also create whether we realize it or not.
Eventually we realize some (or many) of our habits are harmful to ourselves or to others, and therefore need to be changed. Many yogis use ahimsa as their basis for a vegetarian lifestyle. I am one of these people, but I understand that I could be doing more. For instance, although I don’t eat meat, I do eat eggs and dairy, and I really couldn’t argue with someone who tried to tell me that industrially-produced dairy products are just as devastating to the land and animals as industrially-raised meat. It’s true. And yet I have not yet been able, whether through lack of strength, compassion, or ideology, to take my dietary restrictions to the next level. I also occasionally enjoy fish, although I have recently decided to quit indulging myself in this pleasure. I could whine about how hard it is when we eat out (which is when my fish-eating episodes always occur), or I could enjoy the one additional step I’ve made on the ahimsic ladder and thank myself for the progress.
This whole diet as ahimsa practice deserves an entire topic of its own (which is actually what my friend wanted me to write about when she suggested the topic – sorry Michelle, I got side-tracked), but even this aspect of life has strands coming off of it that can make any situation not as cut-and-dry as it looks. For instance, if we visit someone’s home who is unaware of our dietary “requirements,” and this person has selflessly and thoughtfully prepared a non-vegetarian dish, do we refuse to eat it? What’s more harmful? Disparaging someone’s admirable good effort? Or eating food that’s already gone from pasture to table? Or do we graciously enjoy the portions of the meal that don’t contain meat, without commenting upon or judging the rest? All good questions we might encounter as yogis.
As always, you certainly have the option of containing your yoga practice on the mat, and in class, although I truly believe the physical practice eventually reveals the importance of the internal landscape to asana practitioners. It’s all connected. Yoga understands this truth, it is this truth, the practice both contains and directs us to the union we are meant to experience as enlightened beings. And for most of us, it all starts on the mat. I’ll see you there!
Happy practicing. And Namaste.
Blunt force is easy to recognize as harmful, but the more subtle forms of violence might be more appropriately described as resistance to the inherent good glimmering in the center of any given moment. We judge one another too easily, or fail to say “thank you,” or go to bed mad. Sometimes we let too many moments escape unappreciated, robbing ourselves as well as the people surrounding us of the best possible experience. Is this violent? Harmful? It certainly limits our freedom, inhibiting our movement forward in the journey to enlightenment.
Consideration of these questions invites mindfulness and self-awareness, allowing us as yogis the opportunity to continue to grow and to be happier. When we extend the effort to be gentle and aware to even the more subtle aspects of our daily lives, we cannot help but constantly investigate our own motives for and reactions to the events we create, as well as those surrounding us, which some say we also create whether we realize it or not.
Eventually we realize some (or many) of our habits are harmful to ourselves or to others, and therefore need to be changed. Many yogis use ahimsa as their basis for a vegetarian lifestyle. I am one of these people, but I understand that I could be doing more. For instance, although I don’t eat meat, I do eat eggs and dairy, and I really couldn’t argue with someone who tried to tell me that industrially-produced dairy products are just as devastating to the land and animals as industrially-raised meat. It’s true. And yet I have not yet been able, whether through lack of strength, compassion, or ideology, to take my dietary restrictions to the next level. I also occasionally enjoy fish, although I have recently decided to quit indulging myself in this pleasure. I could whine about how hard it is when we eat out (which is when my fish-eating episodes always occur), or I could enjoy the one additional step I’ve made on the ahimsic ladder and thank myself for the progress.
This whole diet as ahimsa practice deserves an entire topic of its own (which is actually what my friend wanted me to write about when she suggested the topic – sorry Michelle, I got side-tracked), but even this aspect of life has strands coming off of it that can make any situation not as cut-and-dry as it looks. For instance, if we visit someone’s home who is unaware of our dietary “requirements,” and this person has selflessly and thoughtfully prepared a non-vegetarian dish, do we refuse to eat it? What’s more harmful? Disparaging someone’s admirable good effort? Or eating food that’s already gone from pasture to table? Or do we graciously enjoy the portions of the meal that don’t contain meat, without commenting upon or judging the rest? All good questions we might encounter as yogis.
As always, you certainly have the option of containing your yoga practice on the mat, and in class, although I truly believe the physical practice eventually reveals the importance of the internal landscape to asana practitioners. It’s all connected. Yoga understands this truth, it is this truth, the practice both contains and directs us to the union we are meant to experience as enlightened beings. And for most of us, it all starts on the mat. I’ll see you there!
Happy practicing. And Namaste.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Sankalpa
The world of yogic philosophy offers a wealth of complementary approaches to personal and spiritual development: physical practice, self-study, meditation, mindfulness, the list we’ve all become familiar with through our own personal practices. We often devote ourselves to these practices, deepening their significance through careful attention and dedication. Sometimes, though, perhaps it’s a good idea to push the envelope and venture beyond the tried and true boundaries of our own comfort zones in the effort to progress spiritually.
For most of us the physical practice is an oasis, an opportunity to reconnect to our inner selves and realign our physical bodies, thereby restoring balance to our daily lives. It is a crucial component of our equilibrium, but for many of us not necessarily terribly challenging to our willpower, fortitude, or sense of resistance. We love the practice. It makes us glow, makes us happy, so we continue to step again and again back onto the mat.
But what about those things we really know we should be doing but seem unable to focus energy on? We all have them. Many people are mired under piles of things they ought to be doing, but don’t. Obesity as well as other harmful body treatment, violence, intolerance, stagnation…the unhealthy dregs of misguided intentions can often swell to proportions big enough to sully entire lifetimes. Students of yoga philosophy, however, have at least the understanding that self-study is an inescapable stop along the path to freedom, and thus we’re open to the idea of trying.
This is where sankalpa, the yogic answer to a New Year’s Resolution, comes in. According to the on-line dictionary for Shoshoni, which is where I received my yoga teacher training, a sankalpa is “a vow to perform a particular spiritual practice for a specific length of time, at a specific time of day, in a specific place.” Other sources define the practice more generally, just as a resolution of any sort, but still with a spiritual focus. So really the actual activity involved can be just about anything – for people who struggle with maintaining a physical practice, daily sun salutations might be appropriate, for others maybe meditation or seva (selfless service). Even giving up television, fast food, or complaining (my new personal favorite).
The point is to bring us face to face with what we resist and thereby allow ourselves the opportunity to grow beyond the range of our self-imposed limitations. Sankalpa is our own inner disciplinarian, hands on hips, not caring to hear for one second what we don’t want to do, what makes us uncomfortable, what we’re used to doing, it doesn’t care about sleeping in or BBQ sandwiches or too-long to-do lists. Sankalpa wants what’s best for us, and it’s ultimately in our own best interest to concur. And so we hold our noses and dive into the icy waters outside the boundaries of our comfort zones.
The primary reason I chose sankalpa as this week’s topic is because I have avoided for too long now taking my own meditation practice to the respectful place it deserves in my day. As I mentioned in a previous week’s topic, I fit my meditation in where I can, working it into my day where it fits. This means that some days I find myself in my parked car, hands folded in my lap in the driver’s seat, eyes closed. Some days I go from one place to another in my home looking for a quiet place, dogs barking, kids wrasslin’, life humming around me. Or I wait until bedtime and sit before sleep, tired and perhaps unfocused. All the time knowing that what I need to do is get up half an hour earlier, sit in meditation first thing in the morning, and start my day with practice.
So this will be my first sankalpa. For forty days. Hopefully by the end of that time the practice will have become habit, and I’ll be one step further along. At the very least I will have gained strength through discipline and dedication, and perhaps emerge more willing to delve into things that on the surface look impenetrable. Wish me luck!
And happy practicing. Namaste.
For most of us the physical practice is an oasis, an opportunity to reconnect to our inner selves and realign our physical bodies, thereby restoring balance to our daily lives. It is a crucial component of our equilibrium, but for many of us not necessarily terribly challenging to our willpower, fortitude, or sense of resistance. We love the practice. It makes us glow, makes us happy, so we continue to step again and again back onto the mat.
But what about those things we really know we should be doing but seem unable to focus energy on? We all have them. Many people are mired under piles of things they ought to be doing, but don’t. Obesity as well as other harmful body treatment, violence, intolerance, stagnation…the unhealthy dregs of misguided intentions can often swell to proportions big enough to sully entire lifetimes. Students of yoga philosophy, however, have at least the understanding that self-study is an inescapable stop along the path to freedom, and thus we’re open to the idea of trying.
This is where sankalpa, the yogic answer to a New Year’s Resolution, comes in. According to the on-line dictionary for Shoshoni, which is where I received my yoga teacher training, a sankalpa is “a vow to perform a particular spiritual practice for a specific length of time, at a specific time of day, in a specific place.” Other sources define the practice more generally, just as a resolution of any sort, but still with a spiritual focus. So really the actual activity involved can be just about anything – for people who struggle with maintaining a physical practice, daily sun salutations might be appropriate, for others maybe meditation or seva (selfless service). Even giving up television, fast food, or complaining (my new personal favorite).
The point is to bring us face to face with what we resist and thereby allow ourselves the opportunity to grow beyond the range of our self-imposed limitations. Sankalpa is our own inner disciplinarian, hands on hips, not caring to hear for one second what we don’t want to do, what makes us uncomfortable, what we’re used to doing, it doesn’t care about sleeping in or BBQ sandwiches or too-long to-do lists. Sankalpa wants what’s best for us, and it’s ultimately in our own best interest to concur. And so we hold our noses and dive into the icy waters outside the boundaries of our comfort zones.
The primary reason I chose sankalpa as this week’s topic is because I have avoided for too long now taking my own meditation practice to the respectful place it deserves in my day. As I mentioned in a previous week’s topic, I fit my meditation in where I can, working it into my day where it fits. This means that some days I find myself in my parked car, hands folded in my lap in the driver’s seat, eyes closed. Some days I go from one place to another in my home looking for a quiet place, dogs barking, kids wrasslin’, life humming around me. Or I wait until bedtime and sit before sleep, tired and perhaps unfocused. All the time knowing that what I need to do is get up half an hour earlier, sit in meditation first thing in the morning, and start my day with practice.
So this will be my first sankalpa. For forty days. Hopefully by the end of that time the practice will have become habit, and I’ll be one step further along. At the very least I will have gained strength through discipline and dedication, and perhaps emerge more willing to delve into things that on the surface look impenetrable. Wish me luck!
And happy practicing. Namaste.
Monday, March 31, 2008
EVOLUTION OF THE PERFECT POSTURE
Hopefully we have all internalized (or are beginning to realize that we ought to) the idea that each yogi and yogini should approach his or her practice without regard to what others in the room are doing. The guy next to you might have his leg behind his head – so what? You happily proceed to do your own thing, oblivious and free, unconcerned with where that guy’s leg is, always listening to your own body and honoring your personal limits, recognizing today’s stop-points as temporary boundaries that present themselves differently with every practice.
Differently with every practice. The idea of an ever-changing fluidity is key to the evolution of the perfect posture, and perhaps one of the more difficult concepts for yogis whose physical practice has grown to include some of the more advanced asanas. Once we learn to, say, bind our hands behind the back in Marichiasana A, or push into a full backbend, are we thus obligated to achieve these postures in their all-embracing glory every time we practice? With each step forward are we merely further burdened by the pressure to always progress, to keep up, to “achieve?”
Of course not. An untold number of variables can potentially affect one’s ability to achieve certain physical postures on any given day: the weather, room temperature, state of mind, time of day, previous activities (have you been sitting in front of a computer all day, or playing basketball?), etc. Except we always want to do our “best,” often mistaking what is best for us with what will serve our ego most. The experience of either pride or dissatisfaction with a posture is the ego talking. The true self couldn’t care less how deep a forward bend is, or how unwavering a balance pose. The true self is happy just to be, is thankful for the posture in any incarnation.
When approached with this mindset, asana practice is respectful and non-competitive. The idea of competition should be avoided in our practice, even in relation to ourselves. We should not try to measure up to yesterday’s practice. With boundaries always potentially moving, each individual practice should be attended to with the same precision of care as if it were the very first. In this sense the perfect posture is always evolving, always different.
Arriving at each practice as though it is the very first actually makes for a deeper, more productive practice, but it entails the hoary struggle of dropping the ego at the door before stepping onto the mat. So your practice has to begin before it seems to have even truly begun, before you have brought body to breath or grounded your feet into the earth. Of course these subtle lessons contained within the physical practice – if we practice for very long – begin to blur the boundaries between asana and life. Before class we drop our egos at the door, or at least we try, which is a good step. Maybe sometimes we forget to pick them back up, leave class without them, and stroll on out to make the world a better place.
Namaste.
Differently with every practice. The idea of an ever-changing fluidity is key to the evolution of the perfect posture, and perhaps one of the more difficult concepts for yogis whose physical practice has grown to include some of the more advanced asanas. Once we learn to, say, bind our hands behind the back in Marichiasana A, or push into a full backbend, are we thus obligated to achieve these postures in their all-embracing glory every time we practice? With each step forward are we merely further burdened by the pressure to always progress, to keep up, to “achieve?”
Of course not. An untold number of variables can potentially affect one’s ability to achieve certain physical postures on any given day: the weather, room temperature, state of mind, time of day, previous activities (have you been sitting in front of a computer all day, or playing basketball?), etc. Except we always want to do our “best,” often mistaking what is best for us with what will serve our ego most. The experience of either pride or dissatisfaction with a posture is the ego talking. The true self couldn’t care less how deep a forward bend is, or how unwavering a balance pose. The true self is happy just to be, is thankful for the posture in any incarnation.
When approached with this mindset, asana practice is respectful and non-competitive. The idea of competition should be avoided in our practice, even in relation to ourselves. We should not try to measure up to yesterday’s practice. With boundaries always potentially moving, each individual practice should be attended to with the same precision of care as if it were the very first. In this sense the perfect posture is always evolving, always different.
Arriving at each practice as though it is the very first actually makes for a deeper, more productive practice, but it entails the hoary struggle of dropping the ego at the door before stepping onto the mat. So your practice has to begin before it seems to have even truly begun, before you have brought body to breath or grounded your feet into the earth. Of course these subtle lessons contained within the physical practice – if we practice for very long – begin to blur the boundaries between asana and life. Before class we drop our egos at the door, or at least we try, which is a good step. Maybe sometimes we forget to pick them back up, leave class without them, and stroll on out to make the world a better place.
Namaste.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
THE PERFECT POSTURE
Yoga has a reputation to some outsiders as a contortionist’s craft. The uninitiated often claim they can’t “do” yoga because they lack the flexibility to twist themselves into the often misguided pop culture images of yogis as human pretzels. This standpoint, however, sidesteps the pivotal issue: yoga creates the limber bodies, the strong muscles, and the open minds enjoyed by its practitioners. It doesn’t happen the other way around. The incremental progress is achieved through a process of growth and discovery whereby subtleties the scope of a hair’s width gradually, with practice, become more obvious. Slowly we come to see, feel, and understand what was before invisible or perhaps frustratingly obtuse. Our bodies grow into the perfect posture through study and attention, through breath and focus. Usually this picture is vastly different for each person, and for each posture.
Yoga has an intriguing ability to challenge us how we need to be challenged. Sometimes this means introducing us to our limits and inviting us to respect them. This can create a sandy seat for the ego, but the whole point is to ultimately bring us to a place of serenity. If the ego needs to be harassed and humbled for the blissful journey to progress, yoga can oblige. So what if you’d like to go deeper into a posture than your body allows – your perfect pose is the place where you are perfectly aligned not only in body, but also in breath and in spirit. If you are grimacing in pain or addled with frustration, you are not doing yoga. Don’t work so hard!
This doesn’t mean don’t show up. The hard work – as well as the blissful reward -- is in the consistency, the dedication, the slow and steady. I once read somewhere that rather than the standard blocks we use in class, a more suitable prop is a book, from which one page is torn out for each practice, taking the given pose incrementally deeper, slowly and respectfully. This is yoga. There is no hurry.
We should nonetheless continue to work toward our goals, without respect to time. Age doesn’t matter, size doesn’t matter. On the mat we are introduced to ourselves in all of our glory, fear, ability, and uncoiled potential. Maybe we have trouble relaxing, maybe it’s an overly competitive nature we struggle with, maybe it’s lack of focus or fortitude or a sense of connection. Asana, if we let it, will guide us forever closer to true alignment on multiple levels.
Therein exists a limitless opportunity for growth, an invitation to the infinite. As we place our bodies in tune with our breath, learn to respect our personal limits, and relax into the place we’re meant to be, yoga happens. This is the perfect posture. And everyone is different.
Namaste.
Yoga has an intriguing ability to challenge us how we need to be challenged. Sometimes this means introducing us to our limits and inviting us to respect them. This can create a sandy seat for the ego, but the whole point is to ultimately bring us to a place of serenity. If the ego needs to be harassed and humbled for the blissful journey to progress, yoga can oblige. So what if you’d like to go deeper into a posture than your body allows – your perfect pose is the place where you are perfectly aligned not only in body, but also in breath and in spirit. If you are grimacing in pain or addled with frustration, you are not doing yoga. Don’t work so hard!
This doesn’t mean don’t show up. The hard work – as well as the blissful reward -- is in the consistency, the dedication, the slow and steady. I once read somewhere that rather than the standard blocks we use in class, a more suitable prop is a book, from which one page is torn out for each practice, taking the given pose incrementally deeper, slowly and respectfully. This is yoga. There is no hurry.
We should nonetheless continue to work toward our goals, without respect to time. Age doesn’t matter, size doesn’t matter. On the mat we are introduced to ourselves in all of our glory, fear, ability, and uncoiled potential. Maybe we have trouble relaxing, maybe it’s an overly competitive nature we struggle with, maybe it’s lack of focus or fortitude or a sense of connection. Asana, if we let it, will guide us forever closer to true alignment on multiple levels.
Therein exists a limitless opportunity for growth, an invitation to the infinite. As we place our bodies in tune with our breath, learn to respect our personal limits, and relax into the place we’re meant to be, yoga happens. This is the perfect posture. And everyone is different.
Namaste.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
MEDITATION
We’ve touched on the topic of meditation as one of the eight limbs of the Raja Yoga path outlined in Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras. People are often intrigued by the idea of meditation, but find themselves stymied by the fact that the practice itself can be elusive and often difficult to begin. The beneficial effects, however, are frequently profound and life-changing. While I don’t have anywhere near the education or experience to consider myself an authority on the topic, I do have enough personal experience to at least offer my unique insights and opinions about the practice. Without the slightest hint of hesitancy I can affirm that daily meditation has improved the quality of my life: I have fewer bad days now, I experience much lower anxiety levels, and I feel more blessed. No small feat!
All this and I’m kind of a puny meditator. I fit my 20 – 25 minutes a day in where I can, rather than at a consistent time and place, which seems to be the typical recommendation. Occasionally I bump the time up to 30 minutes, but this is nothing compared to the people I know who rise at 4:30 every morning to sit for an hour and a half. I am at least consistent about the practice itself, and I can tell a difference when it is lacking from my life. Sometimes I actually crave it, on the occasional day when life seems to be swirling around my head like a wind-frenzied leaf, rather than emanating from me. On those days meditation is literally a tangible grounding place, a centered home with a mud room for the soul’s dirty boots and psychic loose change. On other days, most days, the days that are smooth and soft as air, I drop easily into the open space created by hours of sitting in stillness, as the world breezes past unmolested by worry and angst.
This continuation of the meditative state throughout daily life is one of the reasons that meditation is the gift that keeps on giving. We introduce ourselves to the meditative state during practice (of both asana, or the physical practice and dhyana, or meditation) in part so that we can access it at other times and thus achieve an overall more peaceful and balanced existence. Sometimes, however, meditation can feel like a tedious chore, and twenty minutes can metamorphose into something that feels more like four hours. During these times our minds are trained to accept the difficulty, to breathe through it, and to come out the other side stronger and more centered, still imbued with enhanced or renewed abilities to more easily navigate the journey of daily life. Whether a short-lived struggle or a blissful oasis, meditation yields favorable results. What an incredible gift we have the ability to give ourselves.
But how exactly are we supposed to meditate? So many styles and methods exist, and I personally believe the most important thing to do is pick one and go with it. A very accessible technique for beginners which I used myself when I was first getting started is to simply sit quietly with closed eyes and, breathing slowly and deeply, count your breaths, up to 42. Go longer if you like. This counting method provides an obvious focal point for the mind, while also articulating the importance of breath. Another straightforward approach is to simply sit quietly and focus on the breath, observing the life-tide moving into and out of your body, in and out, allowing the body, mind, and breath the opportunity to merge.
From here the sky’s the limit. Some schools practice meditation standing up with the eyes open. Some people chant mantra, either silently or audibly. Some use visualization techniques, gratitude practices, and internal dialogue with their higher selves. All of these methods require focus, practice, and dedication.
While it may seem appealing to test out a bunch of different meditation techniques and in a way get to “play” with them all, many experts liken this dabbling approach to going place to place trying to find water, digging a bunch of shallow wells. They say you’ll never find the water unless you stay in one spot long enough to plumb the source, practicing one style of meditation. All approaches are equally valid -- the important thing is the practice, not its definition, as each path will eventually wind its way to your soul’s interior zen-garden. You just have to stay on the path, patiently stepping one foot in front of the other. And always remember to breathe… .
Namaste.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
SAMYAMA
This week we’ll travel beyond the more tangibly definable practices involving breath and posture, and delve into the ethereal world of meditation and enlightenment. Dharana, or concentration, was included with last week’s discussion, but it also belongs in a discussion of dhyana and samadhi. In fact, the three limbs of concentration, meditation, and enlightenment (dharana, dhyana, and samadhi) are together referred to as the practice of samyama in The Yoga Sutras.
Concentration is pretty easy, a concept most of us understand intuitively, but the other two facets of samyama are incredibly personal, as they occur entirely within the realm of an individual’s own psyche, and are therefore subject to limitless interpretation. I have found it very difficult to pin down a solid definition for either meditation or enlightenment, for although the Sutras in effect does define all of the eight limbs, the definitions are often akin to koans that leave the mind wrapping back around into itself. You know you’ve been shown something important, but just a whisper of an echo of the reality can be contained within mere words. The proof, as they say, is in the pudding.
It makes sense that concentration is a necessary step along the path to meditation, but what exactly is meditation? Put simply, it is just sustained concentration. It’s amazing how our monkey minds like so much to hop from tree to tree, even when we ask them nicely not to. I read somewhere that all it takes to achieve samadhi is the ability to sustain focus on the meditative object or idea for just twelve breaths. Last week I mentioned how yoga affords us the opportunity to start over when need be; the meditative limb virtually requires it, as the mind is pulled back, and back, and back again from the brink of distraction and returned repeatedly to the point of focus. People spend years, lifetimes, engaged in the practice of meditation, but very few are considered “masters.” So, through a continual effort at starting over, at gently reminding our minds (and by the way, who’s that beyond our minds, beyond our thoughts, asking our minds to quit being such monkeys?...) we learn to meditate, or at least we try again and again.
And eventually, hopefully achieve samadhi. Samadhi is actually described as a state of completely merging with the object of meditation, so that no distinction may any longer be perceived between the observer and the observed. This idea hints at the door to quantum physics that soon opens following the discussion of samyama in the Sutras. My personal interpretation of this idea of “absorption” is that this state provides a glimpse within the universal reality that, on a physical as well as a spiritual level, everything (all forms of matter, the air we breathe, and even our thoughts) exists as pure energy. In this light it doesn’t matter whether the object being meditated upon is a candle flame, or the sound of Om, or a mantra, or the breath. Because it’s all the same, it’s all energy, it is, if you prefer, all God -- so absorption in one is the same as absorption in another.
“Enlightened” individuals are often characterized as luminescent, bliss-filled beings hovering gracefully over the ground. Some experts in yoga philosophy suggest that the reality is much more accessible than the above image implies, that enlightened beings merely recognize the unity of all creation, they are one with the world in which they inhabit, and they flow easily and without resistance through the river of their lives. Others define this state as existing wholly in God-consciousness. Enlightened people no longer have to struggle, as they have learned to fully embrace the “oneness” experienced through meditative absorption. Before one achieves full enlightenment, however, individual, distinct moments of enlightenment may be experienced – perhaps we’ve all had them at one time or another?
These are obviously heady topics, and perhaps represent paths more oblique and seemingly impenetrable than some yogis care to explore. This is fine! It’s enough to let the ideas roll around unexamined in your consciousness if you so choose. Or you might, after investigating the more spiritual components of yoga, be inspired to begin a daily meditation practice. Yoga fits where you need it, whether that is only on the mat or inside of every moment of your daily life. It’s your life, it’s your yoga, you get to choose. Freedom. It’s a wonderful thing.
Namaste.
Concentration is pretty easy, a concept most of us understand intuitively, but the other two facets of samyama are incredibly personal, as they occur entirely within the realm of an individual’s own psyche, and are therefore subject to limitless interpretation. I have found it very difficult to pin down a solid definition for either meditation or enlightenment, for although the Sutras in effect does define all of the eight limbs, the definitions are often akin to koans that leave the mind wrapping back around into itself. You know you’ve been shown something important, but just a whisper of an echo of the reality can be contained within mere words. The proof, as they say, is in the pudding.
It makes sense that concentration is a necessary step along the path to meditation, but what exactly is meditation? Put simply, it is just sustained concentration. It’s amazing how our monkey minds like so much to hop from tree to tree, even when we ask them nicely not to. I read somewhere that all it takes to achieve samadhi is the ability to sustain focus on the meditative object or idea for just twelve breaths. Last week I mentioned how yoga affords us the opportunity to start over when need be; the meditative limb virtually requires it, as the mind is pulled back, and back, and back again from the brink of distraction and returned repeatedly to the point of focus. People spend years, lifetimes, engaged in the practice of meditation, but very few are considered “masters.” So, through a continual effort at starting over, at gently reminding our minds (and by the way, who’s that beyond our minds, beyond our thoughts, asking our minds to quit being such monkeys?...) we learn to meditate, or at least we try again and again.
And eventually, hopefully achieve samadhi. Samadhi is actually described as a state of completely merging with the object of meditation, so that no distinction may any longer be perceived between the observer and the observed. This idea hints at the door to quantum physics that soon opens following the discussion of samyama in the Sutras. My personal interpretation of this idea of “absorption” is that this state provides a glimpse within the universal reality that, on a physical as well as a spiritual level, everything (all forms of matter, the air we breathe, and even our thoughts) exists as pure energy. In this light it doesn’t matter whether the object being meditated upon is a candle flame, or the sound of Om, or a mantra, or the breath. Because it’s all the same, it’s all energy, it is, if you prefer, all God -- so absorption in one is the same as absorption in another.
“Enlightened” individuals are often characterized as luminescent, bliss-filled beings hovering gracefully over the ground. Some experts in yoga philosophy suggest that the reality is much more accessible than the above image implies, that enlightened beings merely recognize the unity of all creation, they are one with the world in which they inhabit, and they flow easily and without resistance through the river of their lives. Others define this state as existing wholly in God-consciousness. Enlightened people no longer have to struggle, as they have learned to fully embrace the “oneness” experienced through meditative absorption. Before one achieves full enlightenment, however, individual, distinct moments of enlightenment may be experienced – perhaps we’ve all had them at one time or another?
These are obviously heady topics, and perhaps represent paths more oblique and seemingly impenetrable than some yogis care to explore. This is fine! It’s enough to let the ideas roll around unexamined in your consciousness if you so choose. Or you might, after investigating the more spiritual components of yoga, be inspired to begin a daily meditation practice. Yoga fits where you need it, whether that is only on the mat or inside of every moment of your daily life. It’s your life, it’s your yoga, you get to choose. Freedom. It’s a wonderful thing.
Namaste.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
ASANA, PRANAYAMA, PRATYAHARA, AND DHARANA
We’re gradually working our way through the eight limbs of Raja Yoga, or the Royal Path, and just as yama and niyama fit snugly together as a unit, so do the four limbs we’ll cover this week. Ultimately, of course, all eight limbs are meant to function together, with each facet of the practice lending strength and integrity to the others.
We’re all familiar with asana, so I won’t spend much time on it here. Asana is the physical practice. It’s the primary focus of most yoga classes, composed of various postures, but the relationship of asana to pranayama, pratyahara, and dharana can easily be overlooked (or simply ignored, which is every practitioner’s right). So how exactly does asana relate to these other three limbs?
Intimately. There are those who say that without pranayama, or control of the breath, the physical practice is not really yoga. Rather, it’s just calisthenics – still good for you, but lacking enough spiritual oomph to really classify as yoga. I’m tempted to agree with this viewpoint, but I also believe that an individual’s yoga practice is such a personal thing that my piddly attempt at subjectively assigning a definition to what another person is doing could very well be misguided. So I won’t go there.
Suffice it to say that when I am involved with my own practice, I always include pranayama, primarily the ujjayi breath which is employed during Ashtanga practice. In a soft form or basic hatha class, pranayama can consist of simply focusing on the breath as it comes into and out of the body, as well as practicing other specific breathing exercises, such as robin’s breath or tension release breath. In either case -- maintaining the ujjayi breath throughout an entire practice, or simply maintaining focus on a full yogic breath – consistent pranayama coupled with asana both requires and enforces concentration, or dharana.
Through concentration and control of the breath during asana practice, the ability to disappear into the breath, to separate one’s self from the body, becomes more and more possible. These are the tools we use to hang out in any of the Warrior postures for an extended length of time, to sit in Chair indefinitely, to perform the umpteenth Sun Salutation. This is how we practice pratyahara, or separation of the self from the senses. Without focus, and without breath, I believe separation from sensory input would be virtually impossible.
The argument can be made that it’s possible to practice pratyahara simply through sitting in meditation, or even during Corpse posture. I certainly agree that if one is going to sit in meditation, then pratyahara is going to inevitably be involved, but the argument can also be made that the practice of asana, pranayama, pratyahara, and dharana are together intended to prepare a yogi or yogini to sit in meditation, which is dhyana, the seventh limb.
So, like most philosophical tenets, The Yoga Sutras present us with countless opportunities for interpretation. Some yogis believe that the “moving meditation” of a fully developed asana practice satisfies Patanjali’s prescription for meditation, or dhyana. On the other hand, like I said earlier, some believe that the first six limbs merely prepare the practitioner to sit in meditation, and to ultimately become enlightened. If you’ve ever tried to sit cross-legged in meditation, then you no doubt understand how physically challenging it can be. A weak, inflexible body is not adequately prepared for this task, as it requires a strong back, a strong core, and open hips, knees, and ankles. Of course, a chair or other suitable prop can be used, but the classic meditation posture is cross-legged or some version of lotus, on the floor. Regardless of your stance on the meditation issue, it does seem to form the bridge from the physical to the metaphysical, so we’ll save further discussion of dhyana for next week.
Mind over matter. Calmness and serenity in the face of difficulty. Moving meditation. These are the skills that eventually translate to our everyday lives, skills that allow us to drive happily in traffic jams, handle screaming toddlers with a sense of humor, and smoothly navigate the often murky waters of daily life. And days when we do lose it, when our tempers snap or we balk at the enormity of the realities with which we’re faced, we have our mat to bring us back to center, to remind us that life – like yoga, like meditation, like the perpetual cycle of one sunrise after another – is so often a process of starting over again. Yoga not only gives us permission to start over again when we need to, it gives us a place to start and a roadmap. One step leading to the next, with every step dependent on the others, every breath, every posture, every moment a new beginning.
May your practice be all of this for you. Namaste.
We’re all familiar with asana, so I won’t spend much time on it here. Asana is the physical practice. It’s the primary focus of most yoga classes, composed of various postures, but the relationship of asana to pranayama, pratyahara, and dharana can easily be overlooked (or simply ignored, which is every practitioner’s right). So how exactly does asana relate to these other three limbs?
Intimately. There are those who say that without pranayama, or control of the breath, the physical practice is not really yoga. Rather, it’s just calisthenics – still good for you, but lacking enough spiritual oomph to really classify as yoga. I’m tempted to agree with this viewpoint, but I also believe that an individual’s yoga practice is such a personal thing that my piddly attempt at subjectively assigning a definition to what another person is doing could very well be misguided. So I won’t go there.
Suffice it to say that when I am involved with my own practice, I always include pranayama, primarily the ujjayi breath which is employed during Ashtanga practice. In a soft form or basic hatha class, pranayama can consist of simply focusing on the breath as it comes into and out of the body, as well as practicing other specific breathing exercises, such as robin’s breath or tension release breath. In either case -- maintaining the ujjayi breath throughout an entire practice, or simply maintaining focus on a full yogic breath – consistent pranayama coupled with asana both requires and enforces concentration, or dharana.
Through concentration and control of the breath during asana practice, the ability to disappear into the breath, to separate one’s self from the body, becomes more and more possible. These are the tools we use to hang out in any of the Warrior postures for an extended length of time, to sit in Chair indefinitely, to perform the umpteenth Sun Salutation. This is how we practice pratyahara, or separation of the self from the senses. Without focus, and without breath, I believe separation from sensory input would be virtually impossible.
The argument can be made that it’s possible to practice pratyahara simply through sitting in meditation, or even during Corpse posture. I certainly agree that if one is going to sit in meditation, then pratyahara is going to inevitably be involved, but the argument can also be made that the practice of asana, pranayama, pratyahara, and dharana are together intended to prepare a yogi or yogini to sit in meditation, which is dhyana, the seventh limb.
So, like most philosophical tenets, The Yoga Sutras present us with countless opportunities for interpretation. Some yogis believe that the “moving meditation” of a fully developed asana practice satisfies Patanjali’s prescription for meditation, or dhyana. On the other hand, like I said earlier, some believe that the first six limbs merely prepare the practitioner to sit in meditation, and to ultimately become enlightened. If you’ve ever tried to sit cross-legged in meditation, then you no doubt understand how physically challenging it can be. A weak, inflexible body is not adequately prepared for this task, as it requires a strong back, a strong core, and open hips, knees, and ankles. Of course, a chair or other suitable prop can be used, but the classic meditation posture is cross-legged or some version of lotus, on the floor. Regardless of your stance on the meditation issue, it does seem to form the bridge from the physical to the metaphysical, so we’ll save further discussion of dhyana for next week.
Mind over matter. Calmness and serenity in the face of difficulty. Moving meditation. These are the skills that eventually translate to our everyday lives, skills that allow us to drive happily in traffic jams, handle screaming toddlers with a sense of humor, and smoothly navigate the often murky waters of daily life. And days when we do lose it, when our tempers snap or we balk at the enormity of the realities with which we’re faced, we have our mat to bring us back to center, to remind us that life – like yoga, like meditation, like the perpetual cycle of one sunrise after another – is so often a process of starting over again. Yoga not only gives us permission to start over again when we need to, it gives us a place to start and a roadmap. One step leading to the next, with every step dependent on the others, every breath, every posture, every moment a new beginning.
May your practice be all of this for you. Namaste.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
YAMA AND NIYAMA
This week we’ll start looking at the individual components of the eight-limbed path, starting with yama and niyama. These are the moral guidelines for yogic living suggested by The Yoga Sutras, but not moral in a religious or retributive sense. No punishments are tied to particular actions (or inaction), but the inherent progression of the eight-limbed path toward the goal of Samadhi, or enlightenment, will likely be thwarted, or at least delayed, if observation of the yama and niyama is not practiced. There is noYoga Entity standing with crossed arms in judgment of your strict adherence to the guidelines; they are merely tools to help individual yogis and yoginis, if nothing else, achieve a more fluid agility in every aspect of their lives: spiritual, physical, and mental.
Let’s start with the yama, or moral restraints. They may also be interpreted as rules for social conduct. They are:
~ Ahimsa, non-violence/non-harming
~ Satya, truthfulness/non-deception
~ Asteya, non-stealing
~ Brahmacharya, control of sexual energy/chastity
~ Aparigraha, non-greed
Now for the niyama, or moral observances. These may also be thought of as guidelines for personal conduct. They are:
~ Sauca, cleanliness and purity of body, mind, and surroundings
~ Santosa, contentment
~ Tapas, purification practices/discipline
~ Svadhyaya, study and practice
~ Ishvarapranidhana, connection to a higher power
There are ten of them! Hmmm, where else have we seen ten “suggestions” for living a good moral life? I personally find it fascinating how many similarities exist – throughout time, across vast geographical distances, and within widely divergent cultural realms – in the various paths of the human pursuit of spiritual fulfillment. To me, that says that although we might be speaking different languages and in virtually every other sense articulating our beliefs differently, we’re nonetheless in many ways saying the same thing. Which, to me, means we must be onto something. Neat.
But, like I said earlier, the yama and niyama, as well as yoga’s myriad other lifestyle prescriptions, are not religious – or, more accurately, don’t have to be religious. Like an infinitely malleable ball of clay, yoga conforms to and fits within virtually any belief system, truly strengthening the practitioner from top to bottom, inside to out.
So what if you could care less about all of this stuff, what if you just want to do the physical practice because it’s good exercise and you enjoy doing it? Some people may never pursue a practice beyond asana, which is where most western yogis take their first steps down the yogic path. And that’s fine too.
With or without observation of all of this “rule” business, asana is still good for us. It makes us healthier in all sorts of ways, including internally. I personally believe the quiet transformation created in the internal landscape of asana practitioners often functions as a turnkey to the spiritual world. The physical postures unblock subtle energy pathways, or nadis, balance chakras (whether or not you even believe they exist!), and in general make us more receptive and open to all the gifts the practice has to offer. Like a clean, blank canvas being stretched – wrinkles gone, pure and open, ready to receive a masterpiece.
This has been my own experience, and I’ve spoken to so many people who say the same thing: the physical practice has opened spiritual doors. Pattabhi Jois, father of Ashtanga yoga, is famous for saying that the lessons of yoga can best be absorbed through “…99% practice, 1% theory.” In other words, just do the practice and the rest will follow.
This is why yoga is referred to as experiential learning, and a testament, I believe, to the unified nature of our existence. Our body, mind, and spirit truly are connected. The physical, mental, and spiritual aspects of our beings all benefit immensely from patient tending and courteous attention. We feel the whisper of these truths during the practice of posture, and this alone is enough to make the practice worthwhile.
Namaste.
Let’s start with the yama, or moral restraints. They may also be interpreted as rules for social conduct. They are:
~ Ahimsa, non-violence/non-harming
~ Satya, truthfulness/non-deception
~ Asteya, non-stealing
~ Brahmacharya, control of sexual energy/chastity
~ Aparigraha, non-greed
Now for the niyama, or moral observances. These may also be thought of as guidelines for personal conduct. They are:
~ Sauca, cleanliness and purity of body, mind, and surroundings
~ Santosa, contentment
~ Tapas, purification practices/discipline
~ Svadhyaya, study and practice
~ Ishvarapranidhana, connection to a higher power
There are ten of them! Hmmm, where else have we seen ten “suggestions” for living a good moral life? I personally find it fascinating how many similarities exist – throughout time, across vast geographical distances, and within widely divergent cultural realms – in the various paths of the human pursuit of spiritual fulfillment. To me, that says that although we might be speaking different languages and in virtually every other sense articulating our beliefs differently, we’re nonetheless in many ways saying the same thing. Which, to me, means we must be onto something. Neat.
But, like I said earlier, the yama and niyama, as well as yoga’s myriad other lifestyle prescriptions, are not religious – or, more accurately, don’t have to be religious. Like an infinitely malleable ball of clay, yoga conforms to and fits within virtually any belief system, truly strengthening the practitioner from top to bottom, inside to out.
So what if you could care less about all of this stuff, what if you just want to do the physical practice because it’s good exercise and you enjoy doing it? Some people may never pursue a practice beyond asana, which is where most western yogis take their first steps down the yogic path. And that’s fine too.
With or without observation of all of this “rule” business, asana is still good for us. It makes us healthier in all sorts of ways, including internally. I personally believe the quiet transformation created in the internal landscape of asana practitioners often functions as a turnkey to the spiritual world. The physical postures unblock subtle energy pathways, or nadis, balance chakras (whether or not you even believe they exist!), and in general make us more receptive and open to all the gifts the practice has to offer. Like a clean, blank canvas being stretched – wrinkles gone, pure and open, ready to receive a masterpiece.
This has been my own experience, and I’ve spoken to so many people who say the same thing: the physical practice has opened spiritual doors. Pattabhi Jois, father of Ashtanga yoga, is famous for saying that the lessons of yoga can best be absorbed through “…99% practice, 1% theory.” In other words, just do the practice and the rest will follow.
This is why yoga is referred to as experiential learning, and a testament, I believe, to the unified nature of our existence. Our body, mind, and spirit truly are connected. The physical, mental, and spiritual aspects of our beings all benefit immensely from patient tending and courteous attention. We feel the whisper of these truths during the practice of posture, and this alone is enough to make the practice worthwhile.
Namaste.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Introduction to The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali
INTRODUCTION TO THE YOGA SUTRAS OF PATANJALI
Yoga is the cessation of the fluctuations of the mind. By practicing yoga, one develops a strong mind, able to focus steadily without being distracted by the play of consciousness. The restraint of the modifications of the mind-stuff is Yoga. The three preceding translations of the second sutra of Patanjali’s famous work may employ a range of semantic tools, but they all say the same thing: Yoga makes us centered, balanced, not so crazy in our heads, so that we may more easily navigate this unchangeably crazy world. Yoga brings us peace.
The Yoga Sutras, from which the translations are taken, is a collection of ancient writings consisting of 200 sutras (literally “threads”) which constitute a “how-to” manual for living a yogic lifestyle. While Patanjali did not by any means invent yoga (it had been practiced for hundreds, if not thousands, of years before his work), the Sutras represent the first known effort to define and to catalogue how exactly to go about practicing the art. Some experts believe that Patanjali was actually more than one person, and the exact date of his writings has never been pinpointed. Estimates for the creation of the Sutras range from 5000 B.C. (the earliest estimate I’ve encountered) to 300 A.D. Most estimates seem to linger in the 400 – 200 B.C. range. In any case, they are ancient.
The branch of yoga with which the Sutras is concerned is called Raja Yoga, or the Royal Path. This is the eight-limbed path of yoga – asana, or the practice of postures typically defined as “yoga” in the west, is but one of these limbs. Other forms of yoga, which are not addressed by The Yoga Sutras, place no emphasis on physical postures at all. Karma yoga, for instance, is usually referred to as the yoga of action, and its devotees typically plunge headlong into efforts designed only to serve others. Through this devotion to selfless service, or seva, karma yogis aim to achieve the same peace of mind and equanimity of spirit offered by every style of yoga, including Raja Yoga.
But what about the other seven limbs on the eight-limbed path? They, according to Patanjali, are just as important as the postures practiced in class. The eight limbs are: yama, or moral restraints (things we shouldn’t do); niyama, or moral observances (things we should do); asana (check); pranayama, or control of the breath; dharana, which is concentration; dhyana, the meditative state which flows from a deepening of the practice of dharana; pratyahara, or withdrawal of the self from the senses; and samadhi, the final step, wherein a yogi merges with his or her highest self, becoming free and enlightened. Opinions differ on whether samadhi is accessible to the average joe yogi, or if only highly evolved spiritual masters can hope to achieve this enviable state. I pick the former.
In case you’re thinking that this eight-limbed business is a little too stringent and, well, impossible for typical workaday folks to incorporate into their lives, know that a pretty convincing argument can be made that a properly constructed Ashtanga practice satisfies quite a few of the eight requirements (asana, pranayama, dharana, dhyana, and pratyahara – with many of the yama and niyama fitting nicely into the practice as well). We’ll cover all eight limbs more thoroughly in a different week, but in the meantime bring your attention back to Patanjali’s definition of yoga in the second of his 200 sutras, and keep it with you during your practice. Yoga is peace of mind, happiness, and freedom. It’s well worth the effort. We should all smile that we make it part of our lives.
Namaste.
Yoga is the cessation of the fluctuations of the mind. By practicing yoga, one develops a strong mind, able to focus steadily without being distracted by the play of consciousness. The restraint of the modifications of the mind-stuff is Yoga. The three preceding translations of the second sutra of Patanjali’s famous work may employ a range of semantic tools, but they all say the same thing: Yoga makes us centered, balanced, not so crazy in our heads, so that we may more easily navigate this unchangeably crazy world. Yoga brings us peace.
The Yoga Sutras, from which the translations are taken, is a collection of ancient writings consisting of 200 sutras (literally “threads”) which constitute a “how-to” manual for living a yogic lifestyle. While Patanjali did not by any means invent yoga (it had been practiced for hundreds, if not thousands, of years before his work), the Sutras represent the first known effort to define and to catalogue how exactly to go about practicing the art. Some experts believe that Patanjali was actually more than one person, and the exact date of his writings has never been pinpointed. Estimates for the creation of the Sutras range from 5000 B.C. (the earliest estimate I’ve encountered) to 300 A.D. Most estimates seem to linger in the 400 – 200 B.C. range. In any case, they are ancient.
The branch of yoga with which the Sutras is concerned is called Raja Yoga, or the Royal Path. This is the eight-limbed path of yoga – asana, or the practice of postures typically defined as “yoga” in the west, is but one of these limbs. Other forms of yoga, which are not addressed by The Yoga Sutras, place no emphasis on physical postures at all. Karma yoga, for instance, is usually referred to as the yoga of action, and its devotees typically plunge headlong into efforts designed only to serve others. Through this devotion to selfless service, or seva, karma yogis aim to achieve the same peace of mind and equanimity of spirit offered by every style of yoga, including Raja Yoga.
But what about the other seven limbs on the eight-limbed path? They, according to Patanjali, are just as important as the postures practiced in class. The eight limbs are: yama, or moral restraints (things we shouldn’t do); niyama, or moral observances (things we should do); asana (check); pranayama, or control of the breath; dharana, which is concentration; dhyana, the meditative state which flows from a deepening of the practice of dharana; pratyahara, or withdrawal of the self from the senses; and samadhi, the final step, wherein a yogi merges with his or her highest self, becoming free and enlightened. Opinions differ on whether samadhi is accessible to the average joe yogi, or if only highly evolved spiritual masters can hope to achieve this enviable state. I pick the former.
In case you’re thinking that this eight-limbed business is a little too stringent and, well, impossible for typical workaday folks to incorporate into their lives, know that a pretty convincing argument can be made that a properly constructed Ashtanga practice satisfies quite a few of the eight requirements (asana, pranayama, dharana, dhyana, and pratyahara – with many of the yama and niyama fitting nicely into the practice as well). We’ll cover all eight limbs more thoroughly in a different week, but in the meantime bring your attention back to Patanjali’s definition of yoga in the second of his 200 sutras, and keep it with you during your practice. Yoga is peace of mind, happiness, and freedom. It’s well worth the effort. We should all smile that we make it part of our lives.
Namaste.
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